


storm with skin

by seijuro



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Drabble, M/M, mythology AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 15:58:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2627633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seijuro/pseuds/seijuro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been ingrained into his mind ever since he was born: lightning had teeth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	storm with skin

**Author's Note:**

> well... i dont know. i couldnt think of a title so i quoted something... someday this will be an actual fic and not just a drabble with purple prose. lightning god au!!

It wasn’t anything like he’d ever imagined. That was the only clear thought he could grasp, as smoke and sky made way to bare a boy bright as lightning.

(It had been ingrained into his mind ever since he was born: lightning had teeth.)

He looked barely Midorima’s age, but when he raised his head, Midorima’s heart struggled in its cage. Beneath a shock of red hair, his eyes burned, made brighter by pale, pale skin. Wild roared right beneath the surface of his skin and Midorima watched it set his eyes aflame.

The boy was a thing of terrible beauty, Midorima thought—and it was fitting, almost ironically so, for a boy born of storm. But he was more wild than any storm Midorima had ever seen, primal and untamed. Raw. Powerful. He had no doubt the sky bent and broke at his command.

( _Teeth,_  he tried to remember.)

Small, strong wrists struggled against iron chains, and beneath the pretense of delicate pale, there was poison. Something sinuous ran through Midorima’s veins, leaving a blazing trail of cold in its wake. It was fear, and it was familiar.

The boy opened his mouth, baring sharp, white teeth, and Midorima was certain that if he were to speak, it would leave his lips as thunder.

He tried to say something— _anything_ —but found both his lips and throat dry. The storm had stolen the breath right out of his lungs, and it had no intention of giving it back.

( _Teeth,_ and storms took and took and took but never gave. He knew it well.)

It did not matter. The boy practically spat out his words, monstrous and so, so much more beautiful than anything Midorima could ever recall:

"You may call me Akashi."


End file.
